


Herbarium Will Bloom from Love

by hearts_kun



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm, comfort is real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 03:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15676677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_kun/pseuds/hearts_kun
Summary: Goro cuts himself and texts Akira in the middle of the night.





	Herbarium Will Bloom from Love

**Author's Note:**

> jii-ro, thanks for editing

Akira wakes up to his phone going off, vibrating way too often and way too loud. In his sleep Morgana hits it with his paw, trying to get rid of the annoying noise. Akira catches the phone a second before it falls.

_[I’ve cut myself.]_

_[I don’t know what to do, I don’t even have a first-aid kit.]_

_[Akira… I shouldn’t get sepsis, right?]_

_[I cleaned the knife before…]_

_[Akira, are you sleeping]_

Akira isn’t sleeping anymore. He doesn’t even want to sleep anymore. For fuck’s sake, getting messages like this from Goro is not his number one dream, but he’s ready to rush over and be there for him, right now. There’s only one obstacle: he doesn’t know where Goro lives.

_[I’m not. Do you need help? Where are you now?]_

He’s typing fast, almost hysterically, as if someone’s life depends on this. Maybe it does. He doesn’t know.

Goro answers immediately. Sends a few dots, hesitating, then — an address.

_[I’m fine. Don’t come if you don’t want to, I’ll be alright tomorrow, I promise. Like usual.]_

Akira imagines how Goro would say this out loud: with his calm, weighted, friendly tone. Sweet tone, forcing you to believe nothing happened. Nothing out of the norm. He always does that; even now, that they’re dating, and Goro knows — he should know — that Akira would do anything for him… He’s still afraid, he still gets closed up.

_[I’m coming over, ok?]_

A long pause.

_[Ok. Waiting. Thanks.]_

*

The subway is not working, and he has to take a cab. Colorful lights blink behind the car’s window, neon lights, like worms, eat their way through Akira’s brain, pulsating as his nerves crack open, as his heart goes pounding.

The driver is weird, tapping an unknown rhythm on the wheel, he doesn’t hurry at all; it seems like he can start humming to himself any second, even though the radio’s dead. That’s what serial killers look like, probably, but Akira is not afraid of abandoned suburbs or crazy maniacs — he’s afraid to be late.

He has to trust Goro, he has to believe Goro can control himself, but the slower the cab goes on another turn, the more often Akira’s hand reaches for his phone.

Should he make that call? For a tiny chance to save a life, and for a certain loss of all trust they had ever managed to build. Akira caresses the screen once more and buries the phone into his pocket. He won’t dare to call an ambulance, unless Goro asks for that himself. Because Akira knows Goro is not suicidal, and he knows it’s important for him that Akira understands this difference.

*

Goro doesn’t open at first. A deafening silence is hanging on the other side of the door for a while, and Akira bites his lips, waiting at the doorstep, not pressing the bell twice and not knocking. He thinks — he knows — he’s been noticed. Just… Maybe Goro needs some time.

Then something rattles and rings, and a key turns in a lock. Goro opens the door a bit and takes a step back, letting Akira in. Akira closes the door behind himself and nods with reassurance: don’t worry, no one saw.

There is something to worry about, though. Goro is awkwardly holding his arm, smeared with blood, and it looks as if it was torn to meat by a thousand knives. For a moment, Akira feels his heart sink, but then he blinks slowly, counts to ten and looks again.

It’s just blood. Smeared over the skin, not as scary as it seems, and not even deadly. It’s just that fear has many eyes. He can breathe now.

He waves a white bag from a pharmacy and Sojiro’s reserves in his hands.

“I brought some antibiotics and bandages.”

Goro nods. He keeps averting his eyes and tucking his head in his shoulders, as if he’s expecting Akira to scream and shout or wail, or cry, or blame him and demand the impossible.

Akira stumbles.

“Uhm, let’s… go to the bathroom. I’ll help you clean up, alright?”

Goro nods once again.

*

There’s only one wound, but it looks terrifying, and it takes a lot not to twitch at the sight. Imagination fuels the worst assumptions, and even if it wasn’t for it — it still looks scary. The wound looks like a hollow: sharp edges of pale skin, carelessly covered with blood, open up as a crack, showing its glistening, fresh, acid-red insides. The cut is very deep, and the next tissue is visible; it’s probably muscles. Akira feels everything twirling and spinning inside of him from how disturbing the view is, but he doesn’t let himself slip, he doesn’t show a sign. Goro has it worse than him right now. And, for fuck’s sake, scaring Goro off is the last thing Akira wants.

He washes the wound gently and carefully, cleaning away all the blood, and puts an antibiotic ointment on the cut. Goro doesn’t show if he’s hurt even once or if Akira’s pressing too hard. He just sits on the edge of the bath tub and watches the edges of flesh, far from each other, and the blood between them; his eyes full of dark excitement. Akira doesn’t analyze it. Maybe he doesn’t want to.

When they finish, Goro finally looks at him.

“I’m sorry. Must be disgusting for you.”

But in his eyes Akira reads that he doesn’t see it as such.

Akira shakes his head.

“It’s not. You’re not. You’re not disgusting.”

Goro smiles bitterly and tilts his head on one side and then pushes back, almost hitting the tiled wall. Akira catches his healthy arm right in time to pull him away from danger. Goro laughs; his laughter reminds the sound of a crumbling herbarium.

“You’re not disgusting, and I love you, Goro Akechi.”

“I know.”

_“I know, but I can’t believe it,”_ he means. Akira softly pulls him closer and embraces him, careful not to touch the wounded arm.

They stay quiet. It’s 4 a.m., the bathroom, slightly blinking lamps on the ceiling, a sink painted with blood stains and a loud dripping from the not fully closed water tap.

“I’ve been meaning to do it… for a long time now,” Goro says, “only I didn’t have the guts. Then you appeared. Remember, I told you? And now—”

Herbarium crumbles into dust of dead leaves and petals, leaving a bare stem, once solid, but now fragile and vulnerable. Goro isn’t just talking anymore, he’s whispering:

“I must kill you now.”

Akira caresses his hair, his shoulders, his neck, his cheek. Slightly leans away only to come back and touch him: forehead to forehead, nose to nose, like a cat, moving his lips meaninglessly, as if casting a spell:

“Whatever Shido orders you to do, however he blackmails you, we will find a way to save you.”

“Save… me? It’s not me, who—” Sobs break through into his voice, and he starts visibly shaking. “It’s not me…”

“We will save us both. We’re the Phantom Thieves for a reason. And if we can, we’ll do it together, just the two of us. Won’t tell anyone, not even Morgana. Just me and you. Will beat up that ass of his.”

“What if we can’t?”

“Then we’ll ask for help. He may hold it against two, but never against nine.”

Goro laughs through tears and lightly hits Akira’s back. _“Why are you such an unserious piece of work, and why do I trust you?”_ he means. Akira smiles and holds Goro a bit tighter than before.

“Because I love you.”


End file.
